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Ticking, Traumatized

A hand reaches down.
And picks them up, gingerly, gently, with care.
A fractured fragment.
A shattered shard.
Brittle, broken, ruptured remnants.
Places them in order. Cements them together.

Time, the adhesive.

It looks whole again, yet is incomplete.
The compartments, the same.
It works. But it’s different.
What soared earlier, is now sedate and subdued.
The innocent, impatient, insouciant pace,
A thing of the past.

Time, the lubricant.

Its body, repaired. Cache disturbed.
Solidity replacing callow softness.
The walls, now compacted. Psyche, bereft.
Rendered cold, tempered by experience.
The innards, once exposed,
Irreparably damaged
By the imprint of the memory.

Time, the emollient.

And so it functions, dysfunctionally.
Stuttering, restarting, stagnating.
Disregarding of neglect or compassion.
Weary, aged, uncaring.
Its future, the past.

Time, deflated, disillusioned, defeated.
Time, the unforgiving, unforgetting failure.

In my case, it’s easy – I’ve got piss-drunk on love, it didn’t work, I lay in the gutter, picked myself up & stumbled home, puked my guts out to get rid of what was inside me, and tried to live life sober, avoiding the next high! I guess that’s what this poem was all about!! 😀

Thanks for your generous comments, I like writing as much as you like reading, & vice versa. Cheers, may we all fall in love again, be devastated again, so we can write poetry again!

MAybe I should have put question marks after? I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s BS that time always heals – there are some wounds that stay raw and hurt more with the passage of time… yes/no/maybe?

This one piece was an entire ride in itself!!! So many emotions! It made me travel back to when I needed healing; from there to where I am now. You have a fantastic way of putting big things in small space beautifully.

I’m sure everybody has atleast one story like this in their lives, only depends on whether we’ve picked ourselves up & moved on or remain stuck in the mire. Thanks for the compliments! You write pretty well yourself!

I’m wondering across your pages – the eternal procrastinator am I. I have other things to do but I’d rather be here, reading your fine poetry. Good poetry like this comes from deep emotions. Similarly it stirs one’s emotions. I feel close to tears reading it. I don’t think I knew you then. You are still writing mind blowing poetry! Given me an idea for a poem I’d like to write.